“Technically, I think they’re half brothers or stepbrothers.” Marge’s face creased. “I don’t remember which.”
“What were the chances?” Bree sighed.
“With Shawn, they were pretty good,” Marge said, as if she knew him. But then, she knew everyone. Of all Bree’s employees, Marge had worked for the department the longest. “This isn’t the first time he’s broken the law, though he hasn’t been in here for several years.”
“He doesn’t have a record.”
Marge lifted both eyebrows, stared at Bree, and waited.
“Oh.” Bree rubbed her forehead. She should have guessed. She needed more coffee. “He’s always been given a pass because his brother is on the board of supervisors.” The prior sheriff had been old-school—and corrupt.
“Elias has a lot of money.”
Bree turned to her computer and accessed the motor vehicle records. She compared Elias’s address to Shawn’s. “Shawn lives on the same road as Elias. Their house numbers are one digit apart.”
“Elias built him a guesthouse just down the road from his own, on his property. If Elias didn’t house him, Shawn would be homeless.” Marge humphed. “Personally, I think the arrest will be good for Shawn. He needs help, and if he’s never held accountable, he won’t get it. It’s not healthy for a person to be given everything.”
“Is Elias Donovan going to hold this against me?” Bree asked. She’d met Elias a few times, but only in a large group. She didn’t have a good feel for him. However, she suspected today’s events would not help her win him over.
Marge tapped her pen on her pad. “Honestly, I don’t know. He won’t do it outwardly. If anything, look for something passive-aggressive.”
“Wonderful.” The sarcasm tasted bitter on Bree’s tongue. She hadn’t even had the chance to argue for her budget, and she already had one giant strike against her. “What else do you know about Elias?” She’d tried to catch him after the monthly public safety committee meetings, but he always seemed to disappear.
Marge made a wry face. “He’s been in county government for decades. He has the kind of money that allows him to manage his money rather than have a real job. He is the primary reason county taxes have not been raised in years. Basically, he gets elected every year on a no-new-taxes pledge.”
“Unfortunately, operating costs don’t remain the same.”
“Which is why the county is broke,” Marge finished. “No one wants to pay taxes, even if they like the services their taxes provide. Elias is smart, and he has charisma. Not everyone likes him, but when he talks, people listen.”
“How did he make his money?”
“Elias was still a young man when his father left him a small inheritance. He was smart about investments. He bought land and commercial properties during the recession in the early ’80s, and again in 1990. He sold off or developed that land after the market recovered. He went about it ruthlessly and definitely made some enemies. He’ll seem refined, but be careful. He’s a shark in business transactions.”
“Is there a best strategy with him?” Bree asked.
“Other than going back in time and not arresting his brother?”
“Yeah.” Not that Bree would have considered that an option.
Marge turned up a palm.
Bree conceded with a nod. She would never let budget negotiations affect her decision to arrest Shawn. She had to play along with local politics, but she couldn’t allow them to change how she did her job. She wouldn’t use a man’s arrest as leverage against his brother. But would Elias use the incident against her?
“Moving on to the second committee member, Richard Keeler,” she said.
Marge continued. “Keeler doesn’t come from money, but he married into it. His wife is from the FitzGeorge family.”
“Should I know that name?” Bree asked.
“They build custom sailing yachts. They also dabble in horse breeding.”
“She’s from old money.”
“The company was founded in the 1800s,” Marge said. “Richard went to the university on a baseball scholarship. He married Susanna FitzGeorge right after graduation. Everyone thought he’d go pro, and he was picked up by a minor league team for a year or two, but that was as far as his career went. He came back to Grey’s Hollow and started working for his wife’s family business. The factory is located in Hyde, on the Hudson River. Many people around here still worship him as a college baseball star. He has quasi-celebrity status. With his wife’s money and influence behind him . . . Let’s just say making him an adversary will make your life—and meeting your budget—difficult.” Marge stood. “So, in short, you’re going to have to squeeze them for every nickel, but you have to do it without making enemies. Be diplomatic.”
“Not my strong suit.” Bree mentally cursed Shawn Castillo and his crappy timing. “Tomorrow should be fun.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that.” Marge brushed the wrinkles out of her practical black slacks. “The good news is that I just made fresh coffee.”
“Thanks.” Bree rose.
Marge patted her own dyed brown hair, sprayed into a curly do. “You’re going to want to fix your hair.”
Bree opened the middle drawer of her desk, pulled out a small compact, and checked her reflection. Tackling Shawn Castillo had knocked out her bun. Sweat and humidity had turned her loose hair into a frizzy, fright-wig mess. She fished through the drawer for bobby pins. At thirty-five, she’d been a cop long enough to redo her bun without looking. Hair was always neatly secured when in uniform.
“Better.” Marge nodded in approval.
“One more thing.”
Marge raised a brow.
“I need you to pull some old records for me,” Bree said.
Matt had said she shouldn’t assume her father was the killer, but the remains had been buried in her family’s old backyard.
“How old?” Marge asked.
“Before 1993. Any arrest records or case files for Jake Taggert and Mary Taggert.”
“Are you sure you want to go there?”
“Positive.”
Marge gave her an all right then nod and wrote herself a note.
“I want their homicide case file as well.” If Bree could not outrun her past, she would have to face it.
“I’ll have this today or tomorrow.” Marge snapped her notepad closed. “Physical files this old are in the basement.”
Bree cracked her knuckles. Time to deal with Shawn Castillo. With Shawn’s file tucked under her arm, she left her office. She headed for the break room and filled a mug with coffee. She added a little cream to cool it enough to drink half the mug in three big swallows.
Matt walked in looking as worn out as Bree felt. Above his tightly trimmed beard, his face was flushed from the heat. His short, reddish-brown hair was damp with sweat. At six three, he was built like a Hollywood Viking. In a movie, he’d be played by Chris Hemsworth. His eyes were a piercing blue, and sweat that would be gross on anyone else looked damned fine on him.
Back to work, Bree.
“Coffee or water?” she asked.